Nabera eyed him. “You think it might’ve been the little car?”

“Yeah, mebbe.” Conrad scowled. “We found footprints. Small.” He held his hands up to illustrate the size. “Could be the spy’s a teenager or a woman.”

Obadiah shook his head. “Women don’t do such things.”

“Yours might’ve before you broke her.” Conrad sneered at him.

Obadiah glanced at Nabera uneasily.

Nabera felt a stirring in his manhood…because Obadiah’s woman, Kirsten, wasn’t broken. Not yet. A spark of defiance still glowed inside her.

He wanted to be the one to snuff it out.

But this wasn’t the time to think of such matters.

The Prophet frowned. “A woman. Spying on us.”

“She might be a reporter like the ones who plagued us in Texas,” Nabera said. Along with the rage that someone had invaded their privacy came a sense of anticipation.

When one of their women had escaped and claimed she’d been abused, reporters had swarmed to the Texas compound. Not that they could get in.

Naturally, after the escapee disappeared, the news dried up. The police had decided the woman had gotten frightened and left the area.

Nabera scratched his chest and smiled. She had been frightened…after he’d caught her. He’d had a most pleasant night.

And she had certainly left the area. Her body was now rotting in one of the east Texas deep-water swamps.

Gators were God’s cleanup crew.

May in Alaska…such a fine time of the year.

Standing at the grill, Bull breathed in the scents of hickory smoke and sizzling meat. Along with the conversation of his family came the contented clucking of chickens and the quiet lap of water against their small dock.

It was a starkly beautiful day. Under a clear blue sky, the white-clad mountains were mirrored in the calm turquoise lake. On the banks, the grasses and reeds were turning a vivid green.

Summers were short here and meant to be savored—which was why his family was gathered on the Hermitage patio for supper. Although the temp was in the fifties, the heat of the grill and the sun’s warmth kept them all comfortable. Sure beat the winter when a warm day made it barely above freezing.

“Serve them up, Regan.” He set the last burger on the stack.

“Yes, sir.” His ten-year-old niece carefully lifted the platter. As usual, she’d been his assistant chef. Today, because she’d been missing JJ who was out of town for a while at some cop seminar, he’d graduated Regan to actually helping him at the grill.

She might follow Caz into the medical field, but the ability to cook never hurt anyone.

She was as proud of the food she’d grilled as he was of her.